


you fill my lungs with sweetness (and you fill my head with you)

by bulletthestars



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M, Mirror Sex, POV Second Person, Sibling Incest, Webcam/Video Chat Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 13:07:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1511633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bulletthestars/pseuds/bulletthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kimi and Nico are half-brothers and Kimi really, <i>really</i> shouldn't be wanting Nico like this. (Or, 'Going to hell, let me pack a bag first.'- Kimi)</p>
            </blockquote>





	you fill my lungs with sweetness (and you fill my head with you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ispun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ispun/gifts).



**one.**

You're eight when your parents tell you that you're going to have a younger brother from now on.

'I don't understand,' you say. Your mother hugs you, tears falling, soaking your t-shirt. Her arms are wrapped tight around you, squeezing you breathless. You are torn between pulling away and staying here, but your hands automatically reach for her shoulder, patting lightly in an attempt to mimic how she had comforted you when you were younger. But she doesn't stop crying. If anything, she sobs harder and you stop, at a loss for what to do.

You look up at your father, but he doesn't move from his position. He looks on impassively, silent.

**two.**

His name is Nico and he's three years younger than you. He has blonde hair (like you) and green eyes (like you) and he's your father's son (like you) but his mother is someone else from Germany. You don't ask about it. It's not your place to, especially since it makes your mother cry and your father shout.

Nico hides behind your father's legs the first time you meet him.

'Hey,' you say. You stop, unsure of what you should be saying. Your father had said that Nico had lived in Germany all his life, so he probably doesn't speak Finnish. So you scrunch up your face, trying to remember what you had learnt in school, saying in English, 'I'm Kimi. Your older brother.'

'Kimi,' Nico repeats, looking up at you, eyes wide. He doesn't move closer, but he smiles. 'Nico,' he says bashfully, hair falling into his eyes.

**three.**

On the first night, you sleep on the spare mattress on the floor in your room. No wait, it isn't _your_ room now. It's Nico's room too from now on.

You're not quite sure of how you feel about this. Sure, you've always felt a tinge of jealousy when you hear your classmates talking about how awesome their siblings are, but now that you've got one... There's nothing awesome about having a stranger invade your space and take your bed. You lie awake on the mattress, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep, shifting around restlessly under the thin sheet of cloth you're using as a blanket. You look for patterns on the bumps of paint on the ceiling, anything that will get you to sleep. You close your eyes, you're getting more tired now but a quiet sob ruins everything.

You sit up, rubbing at your eyes. The moonlight coming through the gap in the curtains is enough for you to see Nico shaking on the bed.

He's crying.

You bite on your lower lip, uncomfortable. You're not really sure what to do. Nico's disturbing your sleep but at the same time he's crying and you hate it when people cry around you. It's like they're saying you should be doing something but you're not doing it right and they're crying because it's all your fault. You frown, grabbing your reindeer stuffed toy from beside your pillow. You climb up onto the bed and thrust the reindeer at Nico. 'Here,' you say, pushing the reindeer against Nico's arm.

Nico turns around to look at you, cheeks tear stained and you swallow noisily.

'Don't cry,' you say, pushing the reindeer into Nico's arms.

Nico looks up, his lower lip trembles and you look at him, horrified because he's about to burst into tears again and that's the last thing you want.

So you pull Nico into a hug, patting his back the way your mother does for you all the time. 'Don't cry,' you say softly, feeling Nico bury his face against your chest, wetting your t-shirt. 'Don't cry.'

**four.**

You last three nights before you decide that you're not putting up with sleeping on the mattress on the floor any more. It's not as if Nico's all that big anyway, and he cries so much that you feel bad about leaving him alone even if you don't know if you like him yet.

He latches on to you at night. Your mother comes in to switch off the lights, bidding the both of you goodnight but she kisses only your forehead and you want to tell her she should kiss Nico too even though you don't understand why. But you hold your tongue because you're eight now, and you know better than to talk back to your parents. When Nico turns to you later on, after your mother has closed the door behind her, he looks at you expectantly, as if he's asking you why your mother had forgotten him.

(Of course you know why, it's because she's _your_ mother and not _his_ , but you don't say anything because he's like an injured rabbit, and you don't hurt animals like this)

So you kiss his forehead, and he looks at you, pleased. He wraps his small arms around you, and all you can think of is _He's warm_.

**five.**

Nico is basically your shadow come to life. He follows you everywhere, sticking close, and your father tells you that it's your job to make sure he gets better at Finnish. Sure, Nico's been having lessons, but you don't even know how to help him. So you sit by him, listening as he stumbles over the words in his book.

'No,' you say in English, shaking your head as he trips over his words yet again. 'Like this.' You read the words for him, they flow easily off your tongue because it's all you've known, but Nico looks at you, helpless and you bite your lip.

He repeats after you, clumsy with his words and you frown. It's wrong. You repeat the words, and this time he reaches for you, pressing his fingertips to your lips as you speak. It's weird, having him touch you like this, but maybe this will help him. You don't really know.

'You try,' you say, and he looks at you, eyes filled with uncertainty. He takes your hand and places your fingers on his lips, mimicking what you've just done.

There's something building inside you, you don't know what it is but you put it down as some sort of pride at having taught Nico something right.

'Is this okay?' he asks shyly. His hand is still on yours. Your fingers are still on his lips.

Flustered, you nod wordlessly. You don't trust yourself to speak. Not like this.

**six.**

It takes a full year before your bed is replaced by a bunk bed, and Nico looks at it, terrified.

'It's okay,' you tell him, climbing up on to the top bunk. 'You can sleep below.'

'Just me?' he asks. He looks like he's about to cry.

'I'm up here,' you say. You take your stuffed reindeer from on top of your pillow and hand it to him. 'You can have him.'

Nico sniffs, taking the toy, hugging it close, and he nods.

**seven.**

It's Nico's first day in school and he's holding your hand, squeezing your fingers tight.

'What if no one likes me?' He asks, eyes clouded with worry. He's seven, and his Finnish has improved greatly, although he's definitely better at German and English. He talks to your father in German, from time to time, much to your mother's disapproval.

'They'll like you, don't worry,' you say, ruffling his hair.

'Really?'

'Really,' you answer, nodding. You pull your hand out of his grasp. 'I'll see you later at lunch,' you say, and he nods mutely as you leave.

At lunch, you sit with Nico and another boy, fair haired with an easy smile.

'This is Heikki,' Nico says happily, taking a sip of his milk.

'Hi,' you say. There's something about him that you don't like, but then again, you don't like all the kids younger than you because they're noisy and childish and well, you're only ten, but still. But still. 'I'm Ki-'

'Nico's brother,' Heikki interrupts, and Nico beams. 'You look alike. I wish I had a brother.'

You look at him, mouth dry, and you don't speak for the rest of the meal.

**eight.**

The door slams loudly and you jump in your seat, drawing an ugly line on your Science worksheet. You sigh, rolling your eyes as Nico runs into the dining room, shoving a piece of paper at you excitedly.

'Woah,' you say, taking the piece of paper from him and he smiles at you, eyes shining brightly. There's paint on his cheek, and his t-shirt's a mess. Ahh, the wonders of art class.

'We drew our favourite person in art class today!' Nico says. 'I drew you!'

You look at the drawing — it's a brightly coloured mess of paint and crayons and you've got two green plates for eyes and hands that are larger than your face.

Nico looks up at you expectantly, waiting for your reaction and you don't know what to say because well, what can you say to your seven year old ~~half-~~ brother, your _brother_ , what can you say to him saying that you're his favourite person in the world? There's a lump in your throat and Nico's waiting for you to say something, _anything_ , but the words don't come so you lean in to kiss his forehead, just as you did all those years ago, when you had still been sharing a bed, with him pressing close to you, clinging to you like he was so afraid you'd leave in the middle of the night.

When you pull away he beams, pleased. 'Am I your favourite person?' he asks.

You look at him, mouth dry. You don't know why the words aren't coming as easily as they should. 'Of course,' you say. You mean it, of course you do, but the words still taste weird on your tongue.

**nine.**

You teach him how to ride a bicycle. He nearly falls over the first time, there're a couple of cuts on his calves by the time you get home and you've got them too from catching him so that he doesn't hurt himself too badly. Or rather, on one hand you think that yeah, maybe he should fall down and learn to pick himself up again, but on the other hand you look at him and you think that he'd shatter if he fell, so you help him up time and time again, until he refuses your hand and grins at you, stumbling to his feet on his own.

And it's all worth it because the next time you go out together with your bicycles, he's paddling furiously, keeping his balance, trying to race you with his stubby legs and you're laughing when he wrinkles his nose at you, demanding that you race again.

**ten.**

_Boom_!

You're awakened by a particularly loud clap of thunder and how long has it been since you had last woken up with a start, like this? You groan, turning on your side, grabbing at your pillow so that you're able to cover your ears with it when you hear the unmistakeable sound of someone crying.

 _Nico_.

 _Boom_!

A choked sob. You shift, uneasy in your bed. The clock on the wall reads three forty-four in the morning, what an ungodly time to be awake and really, you should be getting back to sleep but Nico's crying and you can't ignore it. It's not your fault he's crying, you tell yourself, but at the back of your mind you remember something your father had let slip — something about Nico's mother dying in an accident during a thunderstorm and instantly you feel guilty. Guilty for wanting to ignore him and something else too that makes your stomach lurch as you get down from the top bunk to sit beside him. Perhaps it's pity. You don't really know.

'Nico,' you say, shaking him gently. 'Are you okay?'

There's no reply, just Nico shaking beneath his blanket, curled up in a ball. You sigh, pulling the blanket aside so you can slip under to join him.

'It's okay,' you say, patting his shoulder awkwardly. 'It's okay.'

He turns around, wrapping his arms tight around you as he cries. His tears are hot against your skin and he's clinging to you like he's drowning and you're the only thing keeping him afloat. The uncomfortable feeling in your stomach builds because it's only now that you realise that god, he's so small and fragile that you might just break him if you're not careful.

Later on, you wipe away his tears, holding him in your arms as the storm rages on outside.

**eleven.**

When Nico comes home with blood all over his shin you panic and knock your knee against a cupboard in your frantic search for the first aid kit. He has the gall to laugh at you and you glare at him and it shuts him up immediately, but him laughing should be a good sign. Whatever injury that is, it shouldn't be hurting too much. You help him to the bathroom once you've gotten the first aid kit (antiseptic cream, cotton wool, bandages, all check) and he howls when the water touches his wound. He reaches for you, fingernails sinking into your skin and you bite the inside of your cheek, letting him hurt you.

'Bear with it,' you say through gritted teeth.

He looks at you in pain, eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

'How did you get this?' you ask, dabbing at his wound with cotton wool. He's sitting on his bed now and you're kneeling by his legs, cleaning him up.

'I tripped,' he says, wincing when you dab antiseptic cream on the wound. It's still bleeding but it isn't too bad now. To be honest, you're doing a terrible job of bandaging his leg but this will have to suffice since your parents won't be home until sometime at night. They work long hours, and while you're used to looking after your own injuries, doing it for someone else is quite... Different.

'There,' you say, patting his calf when you're done. The makeshift bandage looks alright. You'll have to wait for your mother to change it and dress it properly, but for now it'll hold up. 'Be more careful next time.'

'I will,' he promises, nodding vigorously.

You get up, prepared to put everything back into the first aid kit when he reaches for you, pulling you down on to the bed. You look at him, eyes quizzical. Did you miss something? 'Nico?'

He leans in and kisses you on the cheek.

You blink slowly, trying to process what has just happened. 'I. You. Why did you do that?' The words are out of your mouth before you can stop yourself and the mournful look on his face makes you wish that you had never said anything.

'You used to do it for me,' he says, voice small. He looks at the floor, ashamed. 'I wanted to do it for you too. I'm sorry.'

'No I,' you stop, searching for the right words to say. There's that strange, horrible feeling building in the pit of your stomach again, and you're flustered and the room feels too hot, far too hot for you to be comfortable like this. You swallow hard. 'I didn't mean to scold you,' you say, choosing your words carefully. 'That was uh. Nice.'

'Really?' Nico brightens up immediately, turning to you with a smile.

'Yeah,' you say, voice shaky. God you don't even trust your voice right now.

Nico grins, pulling you into a hug and he kisses your cheek again.

The awful feeling in your stomach blooms, spreading all over and you feel sick, the sticky-sweet of the heat in the room eats at you and you know you shouldn't be feeling this way but that's not how things go.

You're twelve, and there's a sharp pang in your heart when your nine year old brother kisses you.

**twelve.**

It's been a year since you last stepped into the General Office of your primary school. You're fourteen now, and your parents are both unable to get away from work so you're here to pick Nico up after school.

'Are you sure you'll be alright?' Nico's form teacher asks, looking worried. You recognise her, she taught the class next door in your final year, but she doesn't recognise you.

'Yeah,' you say, catching Nico with one arm as he stumbles against you. He feels hot against your cool skin. 'There's a taxi waiting outside.'

'What about your parents?'

'Work,' you say. 'We'll be fine.'

In the taxi, Nico huffs, saying that he could've gotten home on his own and you sigh, pulling him close so that his head can rest against your shoulder. You tell him to sleep, you'll wake him when you get home and he pouts, looking displeased, but it isn't long before he's curled up against you.

When you get home, you find yourself carrying both your school bags, with one arm curled protectively around Nico to keep him from tripping over his feet. He tells you that it's so cold and that he wants to put on three jackets and you shake your head, helping him on to his bed. He pulls his blanket up to his neck and when he turns his head, the ice pack on his forehead slips lower, so you reach for it, putting it back in place. He catches your wrist, saying 'Don't go.' His voice is soft, tired, and his palm is warm, burning you.

'I'm right here,' you say. You drag your chair over from your study desk, putting it beside him and you settle down into your seat. 'I'm not going anywhere.'

He makes a pleased sort of noise as he closes his eyes, and it isn't long before he's asleep.

You look at him with a lump in your throat, and his words loop in your head _don't go don't go don't go_ and you feel sick, feverish, like you've caught whatever he's down with. You think of his touch on your skin, searing hot and your stomach lurches when you look at him like this, eyes closed, blonde curls damp with the water from the ice pack, clinging to his flushed skin. God, he's your brother, he's eleven, and you don't even know why you have to keep telling yourself that as you watch over him in his slumber.

**thirteen.**

You're fifteen and you've finally got a room to yourself. On some days you miss your old rental flat, with the bunk bed you had shared with Nico, but on most days you're relieved that you've finally gotten some privacy.

For some reason, you can't sleep and you toss and turn in your bed as you listen to the soft pitter patter of the rain outside. You close your eyes, willing yourself to stay still as the sound of the rain grows louder and then-

 _Boom_!

You jump. You're not afraid of thunder, but the sudden sound makes you sit up. You groan, rubbing at your head before pulling up your blanket again, covering your head with it. It takes a while, but your eyelids grow heavy slowly but surely, and you're about to doze off even with the cracks of thunder sounding every now and then when you hear something.

Something vaguely familiar.

You frown. Could it be? Nah, probably not. You're just imagining things. You squeeze your eyes shut, wanting to bury yourself beneath your blanket when you hear it again.

Decisions, decisions. The urge to find out wins, and you make your way to your door, pressing your ear to it.

It sounds like Nico's outside. It sounds like he's crying.

You want to go back to sleep. Nico's twelve. He's old enough to look after himself. You don't want him in your bed. You're fifteen and you'd much rather have that singer you've been fantasising about in your bed rather than your younger brother.

Yeah, Nico can handle this on his own. He's old enough. You keep telling yourself that but you stay put, at the door, not moving.

There's another loud crack of thunder, and there's a gasp from outside your door.

Oh god.

If he stops crying, you'd be able to sleep. That's what you tell yourself when you open the door, finding him curled up in a ball against the doorframe.

'Nico,' you say softly, crouching down to his height. 'Are you okay?'

He looks up at you and you can barely make things out in the darkness but it's evident that he's been crying for quite a while. He wraps his arms around you and you let him press his head against where your neck meets your shoulder as he cries.

In the morning, you wake up with Nico draped around you like he's your blanket. The covers are thrown aside, covering both your legs and nothing else, and he's got one leg on your thigh and you lie there, frozen because god, you're hard. Yeah, you've woken up like this before but not with someone else in your bed, not with _your brother_ in your bed and it's more awkward than the word awkward itself. You want to push him away but instead he clings tighter, leg shifting against your thigh and the sensation sends shivers down your spine.

It's fucked up. He's your brother. Your younger _brother_. You try to think of something, anything that will make your erection go away. Maths formulas. Chemical equations. Nothing works, and Nico keeps shifting against you, oblivious to your suffering, still asleep. You're ridiculously aware of every move he makes and god it can't end like this, you're not going to come in your nightclothes because of _your brother_ that's just wrong and you _can't_ -

Nico lets out a soft sigh, shifting, and you take the opportunity to push him off you as gently as you can. The clock on your wall reads six in the morning.

'Wake up,' you say, and he peers blearily at you, rubbing at his eyes, hair falling into his face. He needs to get out of your room now. Right now.

**fourteen.**

Somehow it feels like something has shifted in your relationship with Nico ever since _that_ night. You don't know what it is, and really, it should be something that should matter but you find yourself becoming more aware of Nico's presence around you. When he brushes past you in the kitchen in the morning, when he bumps against you affectionately after you've helped him with something, when he taps your shoulder to get you to pass the packet of crisps.

But really, nothing has changed, right? It's just that you had tried to be a good, responsible older brother and well, shit happened. It hadn't been a conscious decision for you to wake up hard, finding yourself feeling oddly aroused with each movement of your younger brother's body against you.

Right?

**fifteen.**

Nico's shoulder digs into your chest and you can feel the heat from his body, pressed up against you in the backseat of your parents' car. He really ought to keep his hands to himself. He's twelve. He should have some awareness of personal space.

But no, he talks with his hands to your aunt, who's sitting beside him on your drive to Oulu to see your grandparents and when he drops his hands they fall right onto your lap and he doesn't even notice how he keeps brushing his fingers against your thighs as he speaks. You want to push him away because you hate being squeezed into a cramped space like this but Nico's oblivious to everything and it's impossible anyway, since the car can't get any bigger.

The next best thing to do, you decide, is to try to sleep. You close your eyes, you try to count sheep, you see furry white balls of fluff jump over fences behind your eyelids and slowly but surely, you're able to tune out the sound of the radio and your family talking to one another.

It's four in the afternoon by the time you reach your grandparents' house. You feel numb and sore all over, and Nico's head is on your shoulder, neck bared as he slumbers. He does this all the time, falling asleep with his cheek pressed against your shoulder when you're watching television together, or on the bus home from school. It's just that it's only now that you're actually taking notice of how he always seems to be pressing close to you, and it feels weird. His hand rests on your thigh, palm facing upwards, and there's something unfurling inside your gut as you push him off you and he awakens.

**sixteen.**

A bad tackle in a football match results in you standing over Nico, shower head in one hand, not quite knowing where to look with him sitting in front of you, completely naked. He's got one leg wrapped in a plastic bag up on a stool — a fractured foot in a cast, and you had ended up with the responsibility of bathing him.

'What if he slips and falls, are you going to be responsible for that?' your mother had chastised you when you had protested, and Nico had been quick to add that he'd be able to do it on his own. But one look from your mother had shut him up promptly, and you had wrinkled your nose, having no choice but to agree.

'My hands are okay,' Nico says, moving to grab the shower head from you. You move away, alarmed, and you nearly lose your balance on the slippery surface of the bathroom floor. You place one hand on the railing where his towel is hanging, gripping hard, afraid you'd lose your balance again. 'You don't have-'

'Shut up,' you say, grabbing a bottle of shampoo and shoving it in his face. 'Start bathing. I don't have all day.'

He does as he's told, and throughout the entire process you're squirming, uncomfortable in your own skin. You don't know where to look, you can't look at his face because it's weird, he's not wearing anything while you're here in your t-shirt and shorts and you don't want to look at him like this and fuck, he's thirteen, you shouldn't even be thinking about shit like this because he's your _brother_. There shouldn't even be anything for you to think about.

Later on, you hand him a towel for him to dry himself, helping him out of the bathroom to dress up. He's looking at you with a shy sort of smile, like he's pleased to have you look after him, and all you can think of is _god, when will this end_ because this is possibly the worst thing that has ever happened to you.

**seventeen.**

You wake up at three twenty six in the morning to a thunderstorm, the urgent need to go to the toilet and Nico sitting outside your bedroom door, crying. God, how old is he now? He's fourteen. He should be dealing with this on his own. Besides, he hasn't come to you during a thunderstorm for a long time anyway, so why start again now? That's what you think, but when you return from the toilet he's still there, hugging his knees to his chest. You linger in the doorway, you're tempted to shut the door and leave him out there. He's not saying anything. He's not asking for anything. You shouldn't be obliged to give him anything.

 _Boom_!

You jump, and so does he. He's shaking visibly now, and god you hate this. You've always hated it when people cried in front of you. Against your better judgement, you squat down beside him, tapping his arm lightly.

'Nico? Are you okay?'

He doesn't answer. Of course, it's a stupid question. He's definitely not okay.

You take a deep breath. This is it. 'Do you want to come in?' you ask. Your voice is shaking. You don't even know why. You're not the one who's afraid. You're not the one who's distraught. He is.

He looks up at you, tears running down his cheeks. 'I'll be fine,' he says, voice stubborn. God, he's such an idiot. You sigh, ready to get up when he falters, catching your wrist. 'Kimi,' he whispers. He sounds so small, like he's five all over again.

You pull him up to his feet, and you let him in.

**eighteen.**

You're just spacing out in the kitchen, thinking of how you're going to die for tomorrow's Chemistry assessment because you still can't wrap your head around Organic Chemistry. You're not staring at Nico as he drinks from a bottle with his lips wrapped around the opening instead of having his upper lip pushed in and you're definitely not staring at how his Adam's apple bobs up and down when he swallows.

You're not looking at him. You're not staring. You're not.

**nineteen.**

Nico walks around shirtless, clad only in a pair of shorts and you look at him, horrified because sure, it's almost summer but really, it's still _spring_. You tell him to put on some clothes, god your parents will be home soon and what will your mother say if she saw Nico like that? But he looks at you, lower lip sticking out in a pout complaining that it's far too hot and really, how can you refuse anything he asks of you like this?

But what bothers you most about it all is how he's walking around almost naked, as if he's parading around in front of you. He's fifteen. He's your brother. Your _brother_. You shouldn't be thinking about anything.

**twenty.**

It's not the first time you've brought a girl home, and really, you don't do anything much apart from schoolwork and yeah you've kissed some of them but things never really go further than you having one hand underneath their t-shirts while they grip your shoulder hard. Today you've got a girl from the class next door over, and her hands are stuffed into her jeans as you lead her to your room. Nico's sitting at the dining table, doing his work, and he looks up at her, eyes narrowing when he sees her.

'Your sister-'

' _Brother_ ,' you say stiffly.

'He's weird.'

'Younger brothers are all weird,' you say, snorting derisively.

'My brother isn't as pretty as yours.'

'Huh. You're prettier than he is.'

'Really?'

'Yeah,' you say, leading her to your room. You turn, about to close the door behind you when you look up, accidentally catching Nico's eye. When did he move so quickly from the dining table anyway? He's looking at you with something that looks like hurt and anger, and he ducks into his room, slamming the door behind him.

'What's up with him?'

'Who knows,' you answer, closing the door. But there it is again, the uncomfortable feeling building inside you, threatening to break loose and overwhelm you completely.

**twenty one.**

Things you usually have when you get back from school: pizza, sandwiches, pasta or instant noodles. It's easy to make. Put it in the oven or put it in a pot and soon enough it'll be done. You're used to doing this, you make one portion for yourself and one for Nico to make sure you don't starve until your parents return in the evening, and you have dinner together.

You're stuck on a particularly vicious Chemistry lab report today though, typing away at your laptop when Nico knocks on your door. 'Come in,' you say, and you're surprised when Nico puts down a sandwich on your study table.

'For you,' he says. He's fidgeting, like he's waiting for something. You look at the sandwich. The cheese is melting off the edges and there's lettuce all over and oh shit, _you_ were supposed to do it when you came home but you had forgotten all about it.

'Thanks,' you say, looking apologetic.

He gives you a small smile before darting out of your room quickly, and you reach for the sandwich, mouth dry.

The crust is slightly burnt, and there's too much cheese, but somehow it fills you with warmth.

**twenty two.**

You've been staring at your Mathematics worksheet for the last fifteen minutes and you're missing something but you don't know what it is. You've plugged in the formula, it should be correct but you're still unable to get the answer. You grunt in frustration, getting up to the refill your glass of water in the kitchen.

When you come back, you find Nico standing over your worksheet with a pencil in his hand, scribbling on the paper.

'Nico?'

He jumps, pencil slipping. 'Sorry, I just-'

You look at his working on your paper. 'Did you find something?'

He looks at the paper, then back at you again. 'Um, you missed something here,' he says, pointing to what he has added to your working.

'Thanks.'

'It's nothing,' he says, ducking his head.

'It isn't,' you say. You keep your gaze on your worksheet, saying 'You're smart.'

'Ahh, um,' he begins, flustered. 'Um, you're good with your hands,' he says shyly, glancing at your fingers.

You swallow hard, hand fisting immediately.

'You fix all the broken things at home,' he continues hastily. 'And you fix my bicycle when it's broken. You're brilliant.' The words tumble out of his mouth and for a moment he looks stricken, like he had never meant to say them. 'Sorry, I just. Um.'

'Thanks,' you say again, taking the pencil from him.

He mutters something incoherent under his breath, and runs right back into his room.

**twenty three.**

Sometimes, you bring guys back too. Well, not in the way that you bring girls home, with guys it's mostly to study and play video games but once in a while you catch yourself thinking that you wouldn't mind leaning in with one of your male classmates, you wouldn't mind pressing your lips against theirs to see how it feels like. But the thoughts are fleeting, and you've heard stories about how the people at school treat those who are... Different. So you keep your thoughts to yourself, pushing them away in favour of thoughts with girls.

You're in the kitchen, getting Cokes when your classmate comes over. You hand him his bottle of Coke, and he grins.

'Thanks.' He opens the bottle. There's the hiss of gas escaping, and he turns, leaning against the counter, looking into the dining room. 'Man,' he says. 'Your sister's hot.'

'He's my brother,' you spit, disgusted. 'What do you want.'

'Nothing.' He shrugs. 'Just that he's pretty. Shit, I'd do him if he were a girl.'

You're bristling, crushing the bottle in your hand as you glare at him. 'Fuck you.'

'Hey chill,' he says, raising his arms. 'I was just joking. Look, I'm sorry. Chill, man.'

The feeling that has been slowly building up inside you has now blossomed, an ugly flower rearing its head and it terrifies you.

(Of course it should, because Nico's looking up at the both of you with an unreadable expression in his eyes and you want to kick your classmate out of your flat now, you want to tell Nico you're sorry but it doesn't even really make sense to you so you end up dragging your classmate back to your room and you spend the next two hours kicking his arse at Call of Duty.)

**twenty four.**

Your hair's all wet and you reach for the bottle of shampoo only to find that it's empty. You curse under your breath because the new bottles are in the storeroom and you're not going to be able to get them unless... Shit. Nico.

Well. It's not like you're about to get out of the bath and walk over to dig out a bottle, wrapped only in a towel. So you yell for Nico, asking him to get you a new bottle of shampoo and when he returns later, you make sure you've got your back turned to him as he hands you the new bottle from the crack in the door.

You feel his gaze on you and it burns.

(But it shouldn't be like this, for god's sake, he's your _brother_ , get a fucking grip)

**twenty five.**

You're watching television together and really, Nico's usually not this clumsy but the remote is underneath the coffee table now.

'I'll get it,' he says, climbing off the sofa. He crouches down, on his arms and knees, bending over. His arse sticks out as he reaches for the remote and god you really shouldn't be looking, you really shouldn't be staring but you are, you are and oh god, you are.

**twenty six.**

You don't mean to watch. You really don't. You had just been walking back to your room, and you had never meant to look through the crack in the door. You had never meant to watch Nico dress the wound on his thigh from a nasty fall during a football match earlier in the week, clad only in a pair of briefs.

Of course he's wearing only his underwear. There's antiseptic cream and the bandage that he's carefully winding around his thigh and his shirt's laid to one side on his bed and you shouldn't be standing here, you shouldn't be looking, _he's your fifteen year old brother for fuck's sake_.

But you're rooted to the ground, you can't tear your eyes away and god, you're so screwed.

**twenty seven.**

You're home early today, your group project meeting was cancelled because two of your classmates had fallen ill, and you open the door to your room only to be greeted with the sight of Nico in your bed. He's in your bed with his face pressed into your pillow. His shorts and underwear are pulled down to mid-thigh and his t-shirt's pushed up to reveal his stomach and he's got one hand wrapped around his cock, stroking rhythmically.

He's jerking off in _your_ bed. Your sixteen year old brother is jerking off in your bed. You back away and your leg hits the door with a loud thud. He stops and looks up at you and god, you really don't want to catch his gaze but you do and that's when you turn to leave, slamming the door behind you.

You try to push what you've just seen out of your head but it's useless. Every detail is clear as day beneath your eyelids. Your brother's parted lips as he moaned, his flushed cheeks, his shapely thighs and him touching himself, right there, on your bed.

Fuck.

**twenty eight.**

You don't make it the first time you try for university, but you get in on your second attempt. You'll be twenty this year, and you're glad to be able to move out, especially since things have been terribly awkward with Nico ever since... Well, ever since. And well, sure, Helsinki isn't too far away from Espoo, but at least you'll be getting your own place to yourself. You'll be alone, and you'd be able to think better. Focus. Something to that effect.

Without Nico.

**twenty nine.**

You go home for Christmas, making sure you arrive on the twenty third and leave on the twenty sixth. The last thing you want is to have more contact with Nico, and when you hug in front of your parents, it's brief and awkward.

(Or at least, that's what you'd like to think, because there it is again, the terrible feeling building in the pit of your stomach that you thought you had thrown away a long time ago. That feeling you had when he had lain against you, head against your shoulder, that feeling that had completely suffocated you that day when you had caught him in your bed. You swallow hard, you push the feeling back down but you choke on it and the aftertaste is awful.)

When you're in the kitchen with your mother, she looks at you and there's something in her eyes that you can't quite place.

'You've lost weight,' she says and you nod. Of course you have. You haven't been eating well on your own, even though really, you should treat yourself better. You're capable of treating yourself better.

You help her in the kitchen as she prepares dinner. You haven't done this for a while now, and you tense when Nico comes into the kitchen to help.

Your mother doesn't miss how your shoulders tense when he brushes past you. Neither does she miss how you've barely spoken to one another ever since your return.

'Is there something wrong with the both of you?' she asks. She sounds tired, and you look at your feet. 'I know you haven't been... Close, for the past few years, but-'

You snort, and your mother sighs.

'Kimi.'

'It's just...' you frown, looking for the right words to say. 'Growing up. Things change.'

'Right,' your mother says wryly.

You give her a thin smile.

**thirty.**

You call back more often after Christmas. Okay, once every two weeks isn't all that much but it's something, given how you used to call back every once a month.

Nico answers the phone, and you nearly drop your phone in shock. He tells you to hold on, and there's a quiver in his voice. Or maybe there isn't, and you're just projecting. Your father talks to you for a bit and then your mother comes on the line, asking about school. You tell her you're fine, and you tell her that you're good for this semester and you ask about her garden.

There's a brief silence before you hear the audible click of a door. You frown because your mother's now talking about Nico, about how he's been bringing quite a fair bit of friends back home, how he's always staying out at his friends' houses and returning late. Your mother says it's unsettling because he was never that way until you left, and his so-called friends always seem to be uncomfortable afterwards when they meet your parents.

'Maybe you should talk to Nico after all,' your mother says softly. 'You're brothers, after all.'

'I don't have anything to say to him,' you snap. 'It's none of my business.'

Your mother chastises you and you're barely listening because inside you're bristling. The uncomfortable feeling from Christmas is back again, pulling you down below the surface and you're about to drown in it and god, it's not like you don't want to say anything because you still remember what you had caught Nico doing and fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

When you hang up, you search for Nico on Facebook. You're friends there and you hardly use Facebook. More like, you have it only because it's easier to have it and pretend you care.

Nico's profile picture looks different from what you remember. It's a shot of him with a bunch of friends in a darkened room? Out on the streets at night? You can't really tell. You click through the photos and they're all the same, Nico in fitted t-shirts, mostly white, with skin-tight jeans that look like they've been painted on. He's got friends, no, _people_ all around him and you feel something rise at the back of your throat as you look at those photos.

You tell yourself it's normal. You're just being an overprotective older brother, thinking _you shouldn't be letting them put their hands all over you like that because they might eat you up and you wouldn't even know what's coming_.

(But deep down, you know what it is and it terrifies you because it sounds a lot like _that should be me_ and you know it shouldn't be you because you're his _brother_ )

**thirty one.**

You go drinking and clubbing and you get with girls, some guys too. Sometimes it doesn't matter and sometimes you end up with your flatmate telling you to shut the fuck up because it's four in the morning and he's trying to sleep while you're getting laid in the next room.

Sometimes you jerk off, you close your eyes and you try to think of the girls you've had, the girl with the long brown hair and how good she was at riding you, or that dark haired boy you had at the club who'd sucked you off without asking for anything in return and you had forgotten to get his number. You try to think of them, you really do, but all you get is that fateful day, your brother touching himself in your bed, _Nico Nico Nico_.

**thirty two.**

The last person you expect to show up at your flat is Nico.

'Why the fuck are you here.' The words are out of your mouth before you can even stop yourself.

'Can I come in?' He's wearing a light brown coat that reaches his knees and skin-tight jeans and a pair of boots and his blonde hair is longer than you remember it being, stopping just above his shoulders.

It's close to midnight. You can hardly refuse.

'I'm calling home,' you say loudly afterwards, when the door's shut and he's taking off his coat. 'You're going back tomorrow. You can have the sofa.'

'Your bed's big enough for the two of us.'

You turn and look at him, but he's nowhere to be found. He must be in your room. Shit.

'Get out,' you say, dragging him out of your room. His skin is warm under your fingertips, and you pull away, like you've been burnt. 'What are you doing. Why are you here. What do you want.'

'We can share a bed,' he says, voice quiet.

Your eyes narrow. 'What are you, twelve? It's not thundering outside. Take the sofa.'

There's a flash of anger in his eyes, and you bite your tongue. That was a low blow.

'Fuck you,' he says.

You want to punch him. You really do. But later on, when you're lying in your bed, you replay his words over and over again _fuck you fuck you fuck you_ and you fall asleep, thinking of him on your bed again, touching himself all those years ago.

**thirty three.**

You dream of a hot wet mouth for you to thrust into but oh, someone's holding your hip down so they won't choke, they've got one hand around the base of your cock as they pull back, flicking their tongue over the tip of your cock and it feels so good, you haven't had a dream this vivid before and you moan because _fuck_ -

It's not a dream.

Nico's lying in between your legs, sucking you off.

'What are you doing,' you ask even though it's painfully obvious. Your voice is caught in your throat as he looks up at you, eyes wide, lips wrapped around your cock. He looks positively obscene. 'Why?'

His only reply is to pull back, lapping at the tip of your cock and you try to get up, you want to push him away but he presses down on your hip and you groan. 'Is it me?' he asks finally. He swallows, looking at you, eyes searching. 'If it's me I can change, is it because I'm not a girl? I'll wear a skirt, I'll do anything-'

'What the fuck are you talking about,' you manage, voice strangled as he starts jerking you off, hand moving in slow, upward strokes. 'You're my _brother_.'

'So you don't want me?' he asks, eyes narrowed.

'Fuck, Nico, I-'

'I'm a freak, right? For wanting this with you?' God he's serious, he's babbling about how he's so fucked up for wanting this with you and he's not stopping and _fuck_.

'Shut up,' you say, breathless. There it is again, the ugly feeling in your gut rears its head and spreads all around you. This time you don't fight it. This time, you let it pull you under. 'Just shut up. If you're fucked up then what am I because fuck, I want you too.'

**thirty four.**

You end up coming all over Nico's cheeks and lips and god, it's embarrassing as fuck but he looks good like this and at the back of your mind all you can think of is fuck, how many people have had the opportunity to look at him like this? It's a terrible feeling and you try to push it aside but all you can think of is how you don't ever want anyone else to look at him like this, looking terrified and vulnerable as he looks at you with a wounded look in his eyes, as if there's a crack in his usual confidence.

'Nico,' you begin but you stop, because god, you don't even know what you can say at this point.

'I'm sorry,' he says, he's about to pull away and you swallow hard because fuck, this is it.

You pull him up and you kiss him on the lips, tasting yourself on him. God you hate tasting yourself but this is different, this is you deciding that yeah, fuck this shit, if you're going to hell then you're going all the way. Nico's rutting against you, you can feel his erection against your thigh and you reach in between the both of you, touching him through his underwear and he clings to you, hips bucking against your hand. He makes the cutest noises ever and he blushes oh so prettily and it doesn't take long before he's coming, crying out as he buries his face against your chest.

**thirty five.**

'You need to go,' you say later on, when you're both sitting in the kitchen, eating lunch. You're having pasta, and it feels like you're sixteen and he's thirteen all over again, shovelling food into your mouths as you wait for your parents to come home.

Nico looks up at you, eyes brimming with tears and you grit your teeth, swallowing hard. 'You don't want me,' he says slowly.

'It's not... I just...' you look away, frustrated. God you don't even know what this is, or maybe you do — your seventeen year old brother has just given you a blowjob and you had jerked him off in return and it had been mind-numbingly good. But the fact remains that he's still your _brother_. It's wrong. It shouldn't feel like this. Fuck, you should've never let it happen. 'I need to think.'

'If you don't want me you can just tell me, I can-'

'Fuck no, Nico, I-'

'I know I fucked up, I'm sorry, I-'

'You're my brother,' you hiss. 'We can't do this. It's wrong.'

'Kimi-'

'Go home, Nico. I'm sorry.'

Nico stares at his food, silent. You're not hungry any more, and you've still got half a plate of pasta left.

'Will you come back?' he asks suddenly. He reaches for your hand, but you pull away. You don't want him to touch you. You don't trust yourself not to do anything to him if he touches you. God, you're so fucked. 'Will you come home for me?'

'I...' you trail off. 'You just. Focus on school. I'll see.'

He's shaking, like he's trying hard not to cry and god he's so fragile like this. You want to reach out and pull him into your arms, to tell him that everything's going to be alright, that even if he falls apart he'd still have you to put him back together again. But it's ridiculous, who the fuck do you think you are? So you shut up and look away, ignoring his choked sobs.

**thirty six.**

You don't go back home during summer break. Instead you go to Denmark for three weeks on a summer exchange and you backpack through most of the Baltic countries before returning to Finland two weeks before the new semester begins.

Your parents are upset, of course. They had thought that you would return home during the long break and this time, your father's the one who asks you if something had happened when Nico had visited you during the previous semester.

You fidget in your seat, uncomfortable. Thank goodness you're not on Skype, so they're unable to see your face. All you can think of is Nico sucking you off, his warm mouth on your cock and shit, you're getting hard just thinking about it and you don't want this, you're not supposed to get aroused thinking about your _brother_.

'No, it's all fine,' you say hastily, hanging up as soon as you can.

(But it's not fine, because you end up jerking off in the shower, and when you close your eyes all you can see beneath your eyelids is Nico)

**thirty seven.**

You have sixteen missed calls and twenty three messages on your phone, not to mention countless number of messages on Skype and they're all from Nico. You don't know how to answer. You don't want to answer. You feel sick when you think about what you've done to Nico, how you let him suck you off, how you touched him. What sort of fucked up brother are you to have done something like that to him?

But at the same time, you can't bring yourself to block him so you let things be. You sleep around, you pick up girls, you pick up boys, and one morning you wake up with a pounding headache and there's a half-naked boy sitting in bed next to you, reading what looks like Psychology notes.

'Hey,' he says. He's got blonde hair and green eyes. He reminds you of Nico.

God, you hate yourself.

'Do you want breakfast?' he asks, putting his notes down as he gets up. He's wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. You swallow hard.

'Yeah,' you say, voice hoarse.

You look down at his notes, waiting for him to return. _The Westermarck Effect_ , it reads. You don't give a shit about Psychology, really, it's not what you're studying but something there catches your eye.

_The Westermarck effect is a hypothetical psychological effect through which people who live in close domestic proximity during the first few years of their lives become desensitised to later sexual attraction. The Westermarck effect operates during the period from birth to the age of six. When proximity during this critical period does not occur — for example, where a brother and sister are brought up separately, never meeting one another — they may find one another highly sexually attractive when they meet as adults, according to the hypothesis of genetic sexual attraction._

It doesn't make you feel any better about yourself.

**thirty eight.**

You tell yourself that it's perfectly normal to look at whatever appears on your Facebook news feed. You tell yourself that it's perfectly fine for Nico to be going out with his friends. It's perfectly alright for that boy to have his hand on Nico's waist and for that girl to be groping his thigh so openly in the photos.

You close the window, only to find that you've got one hand fisted tight.

You're not okay.

**thirty nine.**

You go home during the winter break, and Nico's the one who opens the door.

He helps you with your things, telling you that your parents are out and they'll be back in a bit. When he leaves your bags in your room, he lingers in the doorway, biting on his lower lip.

'Yeah?'

'I...' he starts, looking away. 'I'm sorry. For what I did. Just. Forget it. I fucked up. I'm sorry.'

'Nico-'

'I don't. I don't want it to be awkward between us,' he says in a rush. 'I don't. I never. I'm sorry, I just. Just forget it.' He turns and runs back to his room, but you chase after him, catching his arm. He looks at you like he's just been burnt and you pull him into a hug.

'I'm sorry,' you say, voice quiet. His face is buried against your shoulder and he's still in your arms, like he's afraid to put his arms around you. 'I thought I could do it but I can't and fuck.'

You take a deep breath. It's now or never.

'I want you,' you say. 'I'm sorry.'

**forty.**

You end up kissing him, stumbling over your feet as you move into his room. He trips, taking you down with him and then he's looking up at you, lying on his bed while you're above him, staring right at him.

'Hey,' he says. There's a shy smile playing at his lips as he props himself up on his elbows and leans in to kiss you. You groan, kissing back, one hand fisted in his hair as he parts his lips, letting you taste him. When you pull apart, he's breathless, chest heaving beneath you and you shift so that you're able to take a good look at him. His hair's a mess and his t-shirt is riding up his stomach and you lick your lips. 'Like what you see?' he asks, reaching to pull his t-shirt all the way up and your fingers are shaking when you press your hand to his bare skin.

The doorbell rings and you jump, leaping up from your place on his bed.

'They're back,' Nico says, tugging his t-shirt down.

Your parents. Oh god. What are you doing. What have you done.

**forty one.**

You try to restrain yourself when you're around Nico, but it's difficult when he touches you accidentally-on-purpose all the time. Your parents are delighted with your change in behaviour around Nico, and your mother tells you that she's pleased with how the both of you are back to normal now. As close as you were before.

God, you feel guilty as fuck when you hear that because this isn't what it is. This isn't a normal relationship two brothers should be having. Someone normal shouldn't be thinking of fucking his brother into the mattress at every available opportunity.

 **forty two.**

You go to Nico's room in the middle of the night and god, this is probably the stupidest thing you'll ever do in your entire life.

'Lock the door,' he tells you, and you do so, closing the door gingerly behind you. You're so screwed if your parents find out, and you can only hope that they won't wake up any time soon even though well, who wakes up at two in the morning anyway?

The nightlight by Nico's bed is still switched on, and you move to turn it off but Nico shakes his head. 'Come here,' he says, and you let out an audible gasp when you lift the blanket.

He's naked beneath the covers. No wonder the heating's turned up in his room.

'You're crazy,' you say and he fists his hand in your t-shirt, pulling you into a kiss and you shift, so that you're able to climb onto his bed.

'Crazy for you,' he says, breathless when he pulls away and you laugh. It's ridiculously cheesy, but the way Nico says it is painfully earnest and it tugs at your heart. 'Come on,' he says, pulling you down and you end up on your side with him kissing you. He takes your hand and places it on his hip and he murmurs against your lips 'Put your hands all over me.'

And really, who are you to refuse? You run your hands all over his body, every available inch of skin you can touch and it's smooth under your palms. You trace the curve of his body, from where his waist tapers in to his hips to his arse, you rub circles into the dip of his spine and he moans, rutting against you. He's hard and his cock leaks pre-come all over your t-shirt and it feels sticky against your skin but fuck, you don't care, not with him like this — cradling your head with one hand, one leg wrapped around your waist, clinging to you for dear life, as if he's afraid that he'd lose you if he lets go. You'd give anything to be able to learn every part of him right now, to learn what makes him moan and jerk and cry out in pleasure, but you're not going to be able to do it tonight because you know that you've got to get back to your room as soon as possible.

'Kimi,' he whines, hips bucking forward to thrust weakly against your stomach.

'Shh,' you say, dragging your hand over his arse, up his back to his shoulder blades. He moans, shuddering beneath your touch, pressing closer. You're not going to fuck him. At least, not tonight. You tug at your boxers, pulling it down to free your cock and you shift so that you can get one hand in between the both of you. He cries out when you touch him, moaning incoherently when he feels your cock against his and he rocks his hips, eager for more friction. God he's vocal and he's beautiful like this, lips kiss swollen and parted, looking thoroughly debauched, and it's all for you, all because of you.

You've had many others before but you've never had anyone quite like Nico and fuck, you know you're never going to have anyone quite like him. When he comes into your hand, he lets out a choked sob, burying his face where your neck meets your shoulder and he lets out low whines as you continue stroking him even after he orgasms, twitching in your arms. When you lift your hand to his lips to lick he leans in and flicks his tongue over your middle finger. He looks at you like he's waiting for your approval and he lets out a contented sigh when you lean in to kiss him with your fingers in between your lips.

God, you're well and truly fucked.

**forty three.**

You leave for your flat three days before university starts. Unlike the year before, Nico sees you off at the train station, and he catches your hand, thumb rubbing small circles into the inside of your wrist.

'Come back soon,' he says, voice soft before he lets go, hand falling to his side. Your parents don't catch his actions, and you bite the inside of your cheek when they return, pulling you into a hug. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and he looks down at the floor as you get ready to leave.

'I'll come back during summer,' you say.

'See you,' he says, waving as you board the train. He's smiling and he looks beautiful, golden hair shining in the sunlight. You want to freeze this moment in time, to keep in your heart as something to warm you when your bones are weary and aching. It feels so right, but so wrong. He's your brother, but really, by now, you're too far out to care anymore.

**forty four.**

Text messages from Nico about how his day's going and how much he misses you segue into emails with photos of himself attached and Skype calls with him fumbling with his webcam and not quite knowing what to say. He's quite happy just to look at you in silence, cupping his cheek with one hand, hearing your voice as you talk about anything and everything. But of course, things don't stay like this for long, and when he starts appearing on your laptop screen with his hair damp, sticking to his skin with nothing but a towel around his waist, you know he wants more.

**forty five.**

Each time you get a notification on your laptop for an incoming Skype call from Nico, you jump in your seat both in anticipation and guilt. You know what's coming, no pun intended, and really, it's hot as fuck to have Nico as your personal cam boy, but at the same time you feel awful because _he's your eighteen year old brother_ and the fact isn't going to change no matter how many times you do this.

'I'm on your bed now,' he says, holding his laptop out so you can see that he's in your room.

'Nico-'

'I'm alone,' he says, setting the laptop down next to him. He looks at you and licks his lips. 'In fact, I'll be alone until tonight.'

'Ahh,' you say, watching as he settles down on to your bed.

'I miss you,' he says. His head is on your pillow and he turns, burying his face in it, inhaling. 'Smells like you,' he murmurs and there's a lump in your throat as you watch him like this.

'I miss you too,' you echo, and he turns towards the camera, smiling.

'Did you think of me?' he asks, shifting on the bed. He looks down, eyelashes lowered as he pulls up his t-shirt, slowly, slowly until it's above his nipples. There's a tent in his boxers and you watch as he cups himself through the material.

'Yeah,' you answer, hardly daring to breathe.

'Sometimes I imagine that you're the one touching me instead,' he says, hips jerking forward, rutting against his hand.

'Fuck.' You've got one hand in your boxers now, fuck you're so turned on that it's ridiculous and Nico's got a lazy grin as he looks at you from the screen.

'I want to see you,' he says, pouting. 'Show me?'

You groan, grabbing your laptop off your study desk. You put it down on your bed, it's an awkward angle but it'll do. You lift your hips, sliding your boxers off you and he looks at you, biting on his lower lip. 'Well?'

'If you insist,' he says. He hooks his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers, pulling it down, freeing his cock. 'Um,' he says, turning slightly and you're treated to a lovely view of his arse. You miss grabbing his arse as he kisses you, miss squeezing and kneading as he squirms beneath your touch, begging for more. When he turns back to you once more you frown, squinting at the screen.

It's a bottle of lube.

He parts his legs, pushing back against your pillow to support his back and you swallow hard, watching as he presses his fingers to his entrance. 'Sometimes I imagine that it's your fingers instead of my own,' he says, panting as he pushes one slick finger in. He closes his eyes, catching his breath before starting to thrust shallowly with one finger, then two. 'Sometimes I imagine that it's your cock.'

You grunt, one hand steadily pumping your cock as you watch him finger himself open. He looks like a hot, filthy mess on your bed, and god, what wouldn't you give to be there with him, right now.

He cries out as he pushes a third finger in, fucking himself as you watch. 'Wish you'd, _ahh_ , fuck me,' he says, panting. 'I can take it.'

'Of course you can,' you growl. You're not going to last like this, watching him and you _know_ he's watching himself too, in the corner of the screen. If you're ever going to fuck him in your room, you're definitely going to make use of the full length mirror in your closet. 'You're a good boy, aren't you? You can take anything.'

Nico nods. His movements are faster now, his thighs are spread wide apart and you can see his body quivering and fuck, he's right, he shouldn't have to fuck himself with his fingers, you should be there, pushing your cock into his tight entrance, making him moan in pleasure.

When he comes, he calls out your name and fuck, he's made a complete mess out of your bed. But it's worth it. Of course it's worth it. You don't think you've come any harder than this before.

'Come home soon,' he says sleepily. His boxers are around his ankles and his shirt's still pushed up his chest and there's come all over his stomach.

'Don't fall asleep,' you say, waving at the camera and he nods, shifting slightly on your bed. 'You need to get out of my room. Now. Don't forget to clean it!'

'Okay,' he murmurs, waving a hand at you. His eyes are closed, and he's tired. So much for teenage boys and their stamina. Bullshit.

**forty six.**

It's not all about sex. Okay well yeah, you're attracted to Nico's body but it's not just that. Sometimes when he falls asleep in front of his laptop, you think, what wouldn't you give to be back there, to be able to carry him back to his bed and put a blanket over him so he wouldn't get too cold. When he tells you about the fights that your parents still have from time to time there's a flicker of fear in his eyes, like he's afraid that everyone will leave him eventually and you want so much to reach through the computer screen to tell him it's going to be fine, no one's leaving.

See, the thing is, you know just how fragile he is. He doesn't look like it, nor does he act like it in front of anyone else, but you know it for what it is and you know that you'll treat him just right. You know how to touch him so he wouldn't break, and you know that you'd be careful enough so that he'd always be safe. And when you think of all those photos he had on Facebook, that horrible feeling rises up inside you again, because you can't stand the thought of someone else being careless with Nico. If you're going to protect him, then you'll have to do this, even if it's wrong.

At the end of the day, he's still your brother, and you're definitely going to hell.

**forty seven.**

Near the end of your fourth semester in university, Nico calls and tells you excitedly that he has applied to your university. He sounds pleased with himself, and you can hear the pride in your father's voice when he talks to you.

You feel guilty, as always. What's new?

Your father suggests that Nico move in with you if he manages to get in, and the word _yes_ is out of your mouth before you can even think.

You're fucked if Nico comes over to stay with you. You're never going to be able to keep your hands off him.

But that's what Nico wants, and that's what you want... Right?

**forty eight.**

Nico gets in on his first try. He'll be doing Aeronautical Engineering in your university, and your previous flatmate moves out in early June after his graduation. You help with moving in at the end of June, and by July the two of you are more or less settled.

**forty nine.**

'Here.' You open the door to Nico's room, and while it isn't much, you tried. It's vaguely similar to his room at home, and Nico looks around, inspecting the room when he realises that there's a full length mirror by the wardrobe.

'Really?' He raises an eyebrow and you shrug.

'You had one at home,' you say.

He leans in, peering at his reflection in the mirror, then he turns to you, smirking. 'You put this up because you wanted to fuck me against it, didn't you?'

'Ahh,' you say, unable to hide a grin. 'You got me.'

'Do you want to try it now?'

And that's how you end up with him pressed up against the glass, hands fisted against the cool surface as you rock into him. He's louder than ever now that he doesn't have to keep it down and you love it, and when you reach for his cock, pressing the tip against the mirror he lets out a delicious moan, whining as you fuck him harder so that it's almost as if he's rubbing up against his reflection against the mirror.

You'll have to clean the mirror up afterwards but for now, there're better things for you to attend to. He's sitting slumped against you on the floor, shaking in your arms as you continue touching him, mewling with his lips pressed to your neck, telling you that he can't take any more. But he can, of course he can, and your fingers slip into him easily, what with how he's already slicked open. When he comes for the second time, he bites down on your neck, leaving an angry red mark that he licks at apologetically later on.

**fifty.**

At night, you lie in bed together. Nico has one leg thrown over your right leg, and you've got an arm curled protectively around his waist. He had been right all along. Your bed is definitely big enough for two.

'Kimi?' he asks, voice soft.

'Hmm?'

'Thank you for letting me stay,' he says, leaning up to place a kiss on your neck on the bite mark he had left.

'Won't let you go again,' you say, holding him closer.

'Love you,' he whispers.

Your breath catches in your throat. You look down at him, hardly daring to breathe, only to realise that the silly boy has fallen asleep.

He loves you. He's your brother.

You've fallen, and you'll never be able to get up.

'Love you too,' you say, kissing his forehead. You close your eyes, letting sleep claim you with Nico in your arms.

**Author's Note:**

> -written for [ispun](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ispun/pseuds/ispun) for [this understeers prompt](http://understeers.livejournal.com/19807.html?thread=122207#t122207).  
> -thank you so much [ellie-mayflower](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ellie_mayflower/pseuds/ellie_mayflower), [teekuppi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/teekuppi/pseuds/teekuppi), [detentionlevel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/detentionlevel/pseuds/detentionlevel) and [pisaroi](http://pisaroi.livejournal.com) for all your help ;____;  
> -title from [bloom](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8inJtTG_DuU) by the paper kites.  
> -'going to hell, let me pack a bag first.' courtesy of [detentionlevel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/detentionlevel/pseuds/detentionlevel) u___u  
> -part forty two was inspired by [this gif](http://24.media.tumblr.com/6ae58612ad33cb934d1a3313e121987a/tumblr_n2ols6Wg231slhym1o1_400.gif) (nsfw). it even looks like the both of them, i'm speechless.  
> -the [westermarck effect](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Westermarck_effect) (definition taken from wikipedia)  
> -just imagine [this](http://img4.auto-motor-und-sport.de/Raeikkoenen-Haekkinen-2001-fotoshowImage-36a0699f-550879.jpg) kimi with [this](http://37.media.tumblr.com/351a1c510fdb0a627d28391ff44f065e/tumblr_mnxmnuv40q1s81gp6o2_500.jpg) nico at the end of the fic like ahahaha omfg bye orz


End file.
